


For the Love of a King

by Lady_Juno



Series: At Death's Door [4]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: All the sickness are belong to Thorin, Dragon Sickness, F/M, Female Bilbo, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Gold Sickness, How many ways can I say the hobbit's a girl?, Not A Fix-It, Not technically rape OR non-con, but close enough, fem!Bilbo, girl!Bilbo, lady!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-07 09:36:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Juno/pseuds/Lady_Juno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billa knew she had to distract him from the Arkenstone. She had to pull his attention away, somehow. There was really only one idea crazy enough that it might work. The only problem was... she'd never really been good with "feminine wiles."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Seduce a King

Billa cleared her throat anxiously. She knew that everyone could see how nervous she was, but what else could she do? They were running out of time, and she had run out of options. The acorn was still in her hand, slick with sweat as she held it tightly. That little glimpse of the dwarf she knew and loved - well, if she did really love him, then this was the only thing to be done. It just... was usually the male's job to initiate such things. Still, desperate times and all that.

"Um... Thorin? Could we... could we talk? Alone?"

Thorin turned toward her, the arrogant look he'd given Bard still stamped firmly on his features, slowly replaced by curiosity. "Alone?" Then he nodded. He had a keen suspicion as to what she wanted. She had news of the stone. That had to be it. Maybe she'd found it. Or perhaps... perhaps she knew someone else had it. Someone else was withholding it from him.

As the two descended the steps from the wall, Thorin spoke quietly.

"All will be put to rights when I have the stone. No one will doubt my claim. And when Dain arrives, we will drive those thrice-accursed elves from Dale. We must hold fast until then."

"That's..." Billa decided, at the last second, not to say that wasn't what she had wanted to talk about. "That's just it. This... might be the end. Thorin, there's something important I need to tell you." She shot a look at the top of the wall, and grasped his hand, towing him away from the fortified gate, into an abandoned antechamber. It was dusty but relatively clear of debris. There were, at least, no skeletons in here. Billa shivered. She could feel his gaze on her, hungry and expectant, and gripped his hand tighter. She hoped he couldn't feel her shaking.

"Thorin, I... you know I swore fealty. You know... you are my king."

Thorin's eyes flicked from her hand back to her face. Her loyalty was, as ever, reassuring. "Do you know where it is, Billa?" He leaned down, speaking softly near her ear. "The Arkenstone. Has one of them taken it?"

That cursed, blasted stone! Why must it ever consume his mind? Slowly, she shook her head. This time, though, it was the absolute truth. "None of them has it. Thorin, I... I fear for your life." She could feel the tears gathering in her eyes, but made no move to brush them away. "I don't want to lose you. Because... because... I love you." He was so close. She could feel his breath on her ear, could almost sense his surprise. Before he could draw away, she turned her head and kissed him. Perhaps not the most experienced or passionate of kisses, but it was heartfelt and she hoped that was enough.

Thorin twitched slightly, and when he did finally withdraw, he tilted his head a bit to one side, as though puzzled. Had her words gotten through? He was silent, studying her face with a strange, unreadable expression.

The fire burning behind his eyes as his chest rose and fell with heavy, rapid breaths was discomfiting to say the least. Billa couldn't tell whether he wanted to kiss her, devour her, strangle her or some combination of all three. The only thing that was clear was his attention was finally on her, and that, she supposed, was progress.

"Why would you lose me?" he whispered finally, his voice a close rumble. "I am as I always was, and more. Who would dare challenge me when I have the stone? You and I... together, we will rule Erebor."

Billa wanted to scream and curse and cry. That stupid STONE. She wished she could chuck it in the lake.

"I didn't fall in love with your kingdom, Thorin." The words came out as a whisper, strangled by her desperation to find him again, to find the dwarf that had rescued her from drowning in the river, that had pulled her safely beyond the trolls' reach, that had saved her from falling to her death in the Misty Mountains.

"I don't love your throne or your treasure. I love _you,_ Thorin. And... you've changed." The tears were overflowing, and she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around him, trying to hide against the fur that lined his new cloak. It didn't smell right. The old wolf fur had always smelled of woodsmoke and fresh rain. This smelled like dragon, dust and decay. Her shoulders shook, and she couldn't help feeling that Thorin was already lost.

No.

That wasn't her purpose. Not here. Not now. Scrubbing her face, she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself up so she could kiss him again.

_Come back to me, Thorin. Please._

Thorin leaned into the kiss, returned it, and Billa could tell now... it was working. His hand, previously balled into a fist, opened, the fingers slipping in amongst her curls. The halfling found herself quite suddenly with her back against the wall, Thorin fixing her with ravenous kisses.

There was a very different quality to his affection now, she decided. He'd always been so gentle with her. So careful. Now there was an edge to it. Something bordering on aggression. She wasn't sure she liked it.

Still, aggressive distraction was better than none at all. So Billa encouraged him, pulling him closer, guiding his hands when he fumbled. Really, she didn't have to do much guiding. He seemed to know exactly what he wanted. The obsessive focus that had been bent on the Arkenstone had now turned to something else, and when she tried to divert him to something less intimate, he growled softly. It reminded her of Farmer Maggot's dog, Mossy, when she tried to take her bone away. There was no snarling or snapping, but there was the threat of it, if she continued.

"Thorin," she whispered, short of breath after a particularly long, searching kiss. "Not here. Others... might see."

"The others...?" Thorin murmured through shuddering breath, as though he'd quite forgotten there were other people nearby. After a moment's hesitation, he seemed to recall the necessary details. "They're busy sorting. They'll not come in here."

Billa thought these words oddly encouraging, if only because he was able to mention the treasure without immediately reverting back to his obsession with the Arkenstone. Despite how unpleasant this business was turning out to be, if there was even the slightest chance it might help him, she wasn't going to deny it him. Still, being the object of such intense focus and passion was disconcerting to say the least. She allowed herself a dose of bitter mirth in a moment of commiseration for the Arkenstone.

"Love, you've been so distant from me," she whispered as their amorous doings pulled them, in time, to the floor. "I've missed you."

"Distant?" It seemed to take a moment for Thorin to process these words. He was shaking, and as he let his astrakhan cape and fur mantle fall from his shoulders and spread them on the floor beside them, he shook his head a little. "My thoughts have been... occupied. There is much to be done now, many preparations to be made. If I do not have the stone when Dain comes...."

"But now is not the time to think of that," she interrupted swiftly, pressing herself to him with what she hoped was a coy smile. "Now it's just you and me." Thorin was easily persuaded to let the subject drop, and it took only a kiss or two for him to be once more absorbed in the task at hand, which seemed to be primarily comprised of obtaining maximum contact with every inch of Billa's skin.

His attention was so intense, it was a wonder he didn't notice when the halfling started to wince. His kisses were only becoming harder, and to this was added the heavy-handed caresses and what she assumed were love-bites. He didn't draw blood, and for that she was grateful, but it still hurt.

Perhaps he was simply so focused on exploring this new pleasure that he'd forgotten. Billa set her jaw and closed her eyes as she buried her nose in the hollow of his neck. This was Thorin. Her king. Now, also her lover. She wouldn't give up on him. Nothing could make her give up.

That meant permitting everything she knew was to follow, and she put up no resistance, vocal or otherwise, as he began to undress her, not taking the slightest bit of care. It was as though her clothing was simply a barrier he wished to be rid of as quickly as possible. Something standing in the way of what he wanted.

It frightened Billa somewhat, and she tried to control her trembling. This wasn't Thorin - the Thorin she knew would never have treated her as though she were so much flesh to be devoured, and nothing more. Forcing herself to breathe despite the paralysis attempting to seize her lungs, she lay still on the cloak and let him do what he would.

He needed no more encouragement.

It was, though she hated to admit it, just as painful and humiliating as she'd feared. More than once, Billa caught herself wishing someone would find them, would hear their harsh breathing and come to investigate - but that would serve no purpose. So she endured silently the rough handling of this dragon in dwarf's skin, praying this would be enough to bring him back to her.

When he had finished, Thorin rolled away and sat in silence a while, seeming to contemplate many things, and yet nothing at all. The cold of the stone seeped through the cloak under her, and Billa raised herself, shaking, to her elbows. Her clothes were well out of reach, and she had no desire to stand, though the fear of exposure was at this point rather ridiculous. So rather than dressing, she rolled herself in the evil-smelling cloak and closed her eyes, hoping everything would just... go away.

At length, Thorin turned to look at her, and there was a startling clarity in his eyes, as though he was actually seeing Billa for the first time. With it, there was remorse, guilt, nuances the hobbit had not seen since first the Arkenstone had taken hold of him. His gaze drifted over her small, shivering form, and he sighed, dark lashes lowering to touch his cheeks. He couldn't bear to see her now. Couldn't bear to see the truth of what he'd done to her.

After another moment's hesitation, he shifted to sit beside her, pulling her against his warm side, covering her with an arm. She gasped faintly, and he drew his lips into a thin line. He understood well enough, could see the bruises forming on her neck, her shoulders. The bite marks. The soreness he'd doubtless set in her fragile little body from head to toe.

"You're hurt," he murmured, the words catching a little in his throat. "I never meant to... it wasn't what I wanted, Billa. You know that."

Billa huddled against him, and could feel the tears gathering in her eyes, despite her attempts to stop them. "I thought... if you could just see... if I could show you.... You changed. I don't..." The hobbit shuddered, and the tears began to fall - tears of relief and shame and pain. "I can't lose you like that again. I can't."

His hands were gentle as he pulled her into his lap, bundling her in his cloak and holding her close. It was as though he were an entirely different person now, and the dwarf that had left these marks on her was long gone. The relief of that impression was almost overwhelming. Thorin had returned to her.

He helped her dress, apologizing with every glance and gesture, but she didn't regret the pain. Not even a little. If that was the price she paid to get him back, then she would count herself lucky. Thorin was still mostly dressed, himself, and had little to do in the way of making himself presentable again. She could see grief in his face every time he looked at her, and knew that some of the bruises must show above the collar of her coat. Possibly even on her face. Well, maybe the reminder would help keep him sane.

They had only just stepped into the hall when Billa heard the angry grunt of a dwarf, and the clatter of stone. Fili was behind one of the huge piles of rubble, throwing the biggest stones he could heft in what looked like a fit of anger.

"Fili, what's-" Thorin didn't get a chance to complete the question. Fili turned on him, a scowl etched deep into his young face.

"How could you do this? To Bard, to _us?_ You gave your word! Doesn't that mean anything to you anymore?!"

Billa sincerely wanted to kick Fili in that moment. Yes, he was absolutely right. No, he didn't need to bring it up right  _now_. She could feel the shift in Thorin as surely as she might have witnessed it with her eyes. The stiffening of his posture, the clenching of his hands. He released Billa's arm and approached Fíli, fixing him with a look Billa couldn't see, but could well enough guess.

"I'll thank you not to meddle in business that is not your concern, nephew," he said coldly, seeming to loom over the younger dwarf like a great black stormcloud.

"Not my concern?" The words escaped the young dwarf as a hiss. "How is this not my concern? Aren't I a member of your Company? Hasn't my honor, too, been destroyed by your greed? Aren't I your _heir,_ born of Durin's blood to wear the Raven Crown when you go to the Halls of Mandos?"

Billa felt it before she saw it. The suspicion, the fear, the tension in Thorin's shoulders and arms. The readiness to eliminate the threat. Billa threw herself forward and did her best to shove Thorin back, trying to put herself between the two dwarves.

"Thorin! He's just angry and scared, like the rest of us. He didn't mean that. You know he didn't. Fili would never-" She didn't see it coming. Even if she'd had an hour to prepare, or a day, she still wouldn't have believed it. The back of Thorin's hand hit her cheek with enough force to knock the breath from her. The hobbit staggered, her face stinging, the feeling of his rough knuckles imprinted into her jaw.

Thorin stepped back, seemingly stunned. Fili's mouth was slightly open, but he didn't speak. Several moments passed as the three stood facing each other, separated by horror-charged space.

The King Under the Mountain appeared to study what he'd done, to analyze it, as though removed by distance. Then he frowned, shaking his head as though to clear it. He swallowed heavily, eyes widening slightly. His gaze dropped to his hands, and he lifted them, turning them over first one way, then the other, as though he couldn't understand who they belonged to or whether or not he was controlling them.

"Billa, I..." He made a sound that was something like a scoff, his eyes darting to Fili, then back to Billa, haunted, incredulous.

Then he turned away, moving in a fashion that was simultaneously very swift and very heavy, the fur hem of his cloak billowing out behind him like the tail of a great, dark beast.

Billa exchanged a glance with Fili, and knew he could see the bruises Thorin had seen earlier. She decided it didn't matter. She turned to follow her king.

"Thorin, please, talk to me. We can work this out."

Thorin gave no indication he had heard her, charging on ahead, only veering to avoid the larger pieces of rubble in his path.

Billa was yanked back by a strong hand on her shoulder. "No." Fíli's voice was quiet, but firm. "Don't. He's not in his right mind, Billa. He's already hurt you. Don't give him an excuse to do worse."

"And what if he does worse to himself?" There was a note of panic in Billa's voice, and she knew it. Even as she tried to pull away from Fili, the King Under the Mountain disappeared behind a mound of rubble, and his footfalls receded rapidly into the depths of the shadow.

"Someone has to stop him, Fee, someone has to stop all of this! I can't let him do this to himself." She tried harder to slip away, and Fili compensated by wrapping an arm around her waist, which made her give a little cry of pain. Billa felt him stiffen behind her.

"Please, we have to stop him. We have to. I was so close. Spirits... he was _himself_ for a minute. I just... I was so close." She was appalled by the fact that she was crying again. This was no time for tears. She had find Thorin. She had to _do_ something.

"Billa, you can't-" Fili seemed to be at a loss, and the hobbit spared him the struggle of trying to come up with more to say.

"Yes I can, Fee. And I will. Just... get everyone out of the Mountain. What happens next won't be one of the chapters you want to be there for."

"What?" Fili's grip on her tightened, and Billa winced. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to ask for help. Now let me go, Fee. You know I'll get out anyway."

The dwarf sighed and reluctantly released her. "Just... be safe, alright?"

"I'll try," she whispered, and turned away. She had hoped... but it _had_ come to this. She could only hope that Thorin would be able to listen.

 


	2. Words at the Gate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had known it was coming. That didn't stop it from hurting, though.

She'd known it was coming. She'd known that Thorin wouldn't react well. That was why she'd urged Fili to take the others and leave. Of course, they hadn't. They had stayed, to the last stubborn dwarf.

And now, as Thorin turned his face away from Bard and the shining stone below, Billa stepped forward, bracing herself for what must come next. "It's real, Thorin. I gave it to them."

Something shifted in Thorin's face, the arrogance and self-assurance replaced by something Billa couldn't place.

"I don't believe you," the dwarf said finally, clearly trying to convince himself. "You could not have. You're trying to protect someone. You're trying to protect one of these others!"

He seized Fili by the shoulders, shaking him soundly. "It was _you_ , then, wasn't it?! All along!"

"No, Thorin!" Billa grabbed his arm and hung on, her expression something between grim and frightened. "It was me. I found it. That day that Smaug tried to eat us - I had it in my pocket all along. I was going to give it to you." She could feel him go still under her hands, and began to shake. "I wanted to, so many times. But... you changed. You're hurting us, hurting yourself. You don't eat, hardly sleep. Can't you see what it's doing to you? This is your Company. These dwarves are your family. We would never betray you." He was staring at her as though she had suddenly grown an extra head, and she released him, finding it very hard to swallow. "Unless... unless it was for your own good. Thorin, I didn't know how else to make you see what you're becoming. The Thorin I met in Bag End would never have gone back on his word. Is this... treasure, worth that to you? Your honor?"

All was utterly silent on the ramparts and below. Even the wind, it seemed, had paused to listen.

Then Thorin spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "You? _You_ would betray me? After everything...? After-" Seemingly overcome, his face stricken, his eyes watery, Thorin turned away. "I was blind. How did I not see it?!"

The gaze of Thranduil bored into him. Of Bard. Of an entire army of Elves and Men. He'd been made to look a fool, _he_ who was supposed to be the King Under the Mountain, the representative of his people. Betrayed. Blindsided. Stabbed through the heart in the presence of all.

Shaking with rage and humiliation, Thorin turned, his eyes blazing, blurred with tears. "Throw her from the ramparts! Cast her to the elves, where she belongs!"

Billa tensed, terror ripping through her. She could see that she had wounded him deeply, and it tore at her heart, even as she expected hands to grasp her, throw her over the edge.

"No, Thorin, please! I was only trying to help you - you're sick, can't you see that? It's the treasure, and that blasted stone. Please listen to me, Thorin, please!"

She lurched toward him, becoming suddenly aware that not a soul had moved, either on the wall or below, save for herself and the Mountain King. Thorin turned his devastated gaze on his Company, and seemed to come to the same conclusion she had. None of them would obey his command. None were willing to cast her to her death.

"I'll do it myself, then," he hissed, and as his hands closed around her arms like twin vices, Billa's voice died in her throat. This was it, then. Thorin was gone, and he was never coming back. She gazed desperately into his face, her vision swimming with tears.

"Thorin, please," she whispered, but he was deaf to her words as he lifted her bodily toward the edge. "Please, don't do this. Come back to me."

Thorin held her at the brink, but did not release her. "Do not speak to me... _Burglar_. I trusted you. More than my own kin!"

With one fearfully strong hand, he seized her by the lapels of her coat so her feet dangled free, some fifty feet above the moat. "I loved you with all my heart...."

Billa shut her eyes, releasing her grip on his wrists. Her voice was surprisingly calm. Resigned. "I've never stopped loving _you_."

It was strange, she thought to herself, that imminent death made the betrayal that much easier to bear. Her own betrayal of the dwarf she had sworn loyalty to... his betrayal of her. The wind buffeted her a little, and a bitter sort of amusement caught in her thoughts. If this, threatening to kill her over a stupid gem, wasn't betrayal, then she didn't know what was. There was a commotion below, but she ignored it. It would make no difference. But Thorin... Thorin was gazing at her, confusion and offense in his eyes.

"You suggest-?" he began, and Billa looked away. Had she just accused him of ceasing to love her? Yes, she had. What sort of person, Man, Dwarf, or Elf, dropped the woman he loved off a fifty-foot wall for the sake of gold?

There was another moment when nothing at all happened, and Billa waited for the air to rush past her, for death to welcome her with open arms.

"Quite a splendid figure you cut, as King Under the Mountain," called a familiar voice from below. "Tell me, is this how Thrain's son treats those to whom he owes his life?" Gandalf's words were barbed, and his aim was true. Billa felt Thorin twitch.

What energy remained in him seemed to drain away, and with a tired outgo of breath, Thorin pulled Billa back through the crenelations and released her. She barely managed to land on her feet, scrambling back, gasping for breath.

"A curse on you, Wizard," Thorin spoke quietly, but distinctly, "and a curse on the Shire-rat you forced on this Company." He caught Dwalin's eye and made a sharp motion. "Put her out with her true allies, and may our paths never cross again."

As Dwalin's heavy hands landed on her shoulders and steered her toward the rope Bofur was lowering to the moat, Billa felt as though her very self was breaking. The bits and pieces that made up the Hobbit Billa Baggins were falling apart.

With her true allies. That their paths might never cross again. It would have been kinder to kill her.

Billa turned back as she reached the rope, hoping for one last glimpse of Thorin. Perhaps a look of grief or regret. No. He looked betrayed. Angry. And tired. So very tired.

"Farewell." She meant to say more, but her throat closed around the word, and she had to look away. Grasping the rope in shaking hands, she started to clamber down the wall to join Gandalf.

 


	3. Breaking Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin questions his sanity, and ultimately returns to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smaug: What you didn't know was that I sprinkled the gold with anthrax. Have fun, Thorin.

It was odd. The hall had a cold, echoey quality despite the silence, and the gold below him was almost luminescent. He played the situation over in his mind again and again. Billa's betrayal. Gandalf's scolding. Dain's arrival. Dwalin's news.

_"They're being slaughtered out there, Thorin. Dain's surrounded."_

The gold seemed to ripple beneath him, like heat, or grass under a summer wind.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" whispered Thror. He was just as Thorin remembered him, beard richly plaited, the fur mantle on his shoulder the same one Thorin now wore. "Better than a statue, I think. You did well."

"You're dead." Thorin heard his own response, even though his mouth had not moved. "Your head was claimed by the Pale Orc. I saw it."

"And yet I live on," the resplendent figure observed softly, untroubled. "I live on in my grandson. Your father was weak, Thorin. You and I know that. He did not have it in him to reclaim the Mountain. The treasure. That took a stronger heart. A heart akin to my own."

Thorin frowned, pulling his gaze from the rippling treasure with some effort. "This gold... it has cast a darkness over me. Those who I thought most loyal have turned their backs, have betrayed me."

"A king does not need the support of such weaklings," Thror insisted. "They are nothing. Their lives are cheaply bought. But gold - gold such as this is strength, power beyond measure."

Something about this bothered Thorin. He turned away from his grandfather, hoping to think, be alone, and felt his heart make a sincere attempt at exploding in his chest. A second figure stood near one of the massive, gold-splattered pillars, looking out at the glowing gold floor with a sad, distant expression. The Dwarf's beard was glossy and blond, delicately braided and woven with pearls he recalled his father bringing home for her. Frís lifted her gaze to her son's and shook her head slightly, but said nothing.

"Amad." The old word had not passed his lips in almost two centuries. It meant more than 'mother.' It meant safety. Warmth. Security. Love. She hadn't wanted to leave the Mountain. And she never had.

"Your father got lost in the treasury again. He won't come to supper without the king."

Thorin did not reply immediately, memories long-suppressed or forgotten flooding over him in concert with an onslaught of conflicting emotions. He remembered well now what had transpired in the months before the dragon came, how seldom Thror seemed to leave the treasure chamber, how tired Thrain looked when he returned to report the King would not be joining his family for this or that meal or function.

"Father is lost... never returned...." Thorin shook his head as though trying to clear it. Thrain was missing, gone for so many years now. "He tried to reclaim the Mountain, Amad. Tried to reclaim it from Smaug."

Images from a particularly painful memory now intruded upon those of his father bidding him farewell, the blinding flash of light as his mother was caught in a burst of dragon fire that was her end and that of a dozen others. Thorin's eyes watered a little. "I was too late. They said you had made it out. Father and I went to make sure. But you had... turned back. We never knew why."

Frís' gaze swept slowly around the room, and eventually landed on Thorin again. She seemed tired, as though she had been carrying a great weight over vast distances. She, like his grandfather, was wearing rich clothes, velvet and fur and dark, soft suede.

"Frerin took your sister," she said at last, information Thorin knew all too well, remembered with a clarity that was painful, like bright light. "You were with your father. But the servants... no one had told them. They were hiding in the kitchen. Someone needed to get them out."

Part of Thorin's mind insisted that this was ridiculous. Who would turn back for _servants?_ And besides, why hadn't they been out fighting the dragon? They were _Dwarves,_  weren't they? Another part of his mind whispered that this was a dream, that it wasn't real, and he still couldn't know why his mother had turned back.

But it made sense. His mother and father had cared deeply for the folk of the Mountain. And it would explain why, when he had shouted for her, she had turned to look at him but had not come. If she had come, she would have lived. But she had stayed, ushering the others through a door, when the fire had come roaring down the corridor.

"Gold is not strength, Thorin." The voice that rose at the dwarf king's back was all too familiar, and he turned away from the specter masquerading as his mother to take in the wizened visage and pointed hat of Gandalf the Grey. "It may be taken at a moment's notice, as it was from your grandfather. True strength was shown by your mother in her defense of the helpless. Strength of character is far harder to steal than gold or jewels, and far more precious."

"What are you doing here, Gandalf? I told you I've had my fill of you and your meddling." Thorin glowered at the old man seeming to hover just above the surface of the gold, his aspect hazy as the air between tongues of flame.

"What do you _think_ I'm doing here?" asked Gandalf with an irritable shrug. "Talking some sense into that thick head and stiff neck of yours. I certainly didn't come for your sparkling wit."

"I don't need your sense, or your help," Thorin growled, pulling his cloak defensively about his person. The shimmering in the air intensified, and a shadow seemed to pass through the gold under his feet - a slithery, sinister shadow.

"You've changed, Thorin," said a soft, female voice to his left, and Thorin turned slowly, a feeling of dread settling in his stomach. "I'm afraid... I'll lose you." And there she was, just as he'd last seen her. The halfling stood gingerly, her weight mostly on one leg, reddish bruises circling her neck, purple on her cheek, scrapes along her hands. The damage he'd dealt to her, him alone, made him wince.

But she deserved it, a voice insisted stubbornly from a dark corner of his mind. She had betrayed him. Still... most of that damage had been dealt before she had done anything against him. Thorin shuddered.

"Begone, all of you!" he snarled, turning away. "I came here to be _alone._ I am King Under the Mountain. I will not be swayed."

"How quaint," hissed a deep, rumbling voice from under his feet. "You believe that _you_ are king."

The shadow rippled again through the gold, a massive pair of wings, an enormous tail, and the shimmering heat seemed to intensify.

"But you and I know differently, don't we, Oakenshield?" The huge, spiky head of Smaug rose slowly from the gold, dripping, spattering molten metal on Thorin's boots. "There can only be one King Under the Mountain."

Thorin shook his head violently, torn between incredulity and the verity of his own eyes. Smaug was dead. The dragon was dead. This had to be a trick. Didn't it?

Still, there the beast was, alive as he'd ever been, and even more terrifying than Thorin remembered.

The dwarf backpedaled, hand fumbling for his sword. "You were never King, worm! You killed all those who might have been your subjects, and accomplished nothing in this kingdom beyond defiling it." Thorin smirked, leveling the tip of the blade with the beast's nose. "What could _you_ have done with the gold... beyond sleep in it?"

The beast didn't so much as blink, his frill of spikes rising slightly as his eyes tracked Thorin's movements. His face, not his sword, was the focus of Smaug's evil orange stare.

"What do you do with it, that is better? I delivered to the Lakemen what I promised - death and fire." The dragon paused, looking mockingly thoughtful. "Perhaps it would have been more entertaining to promise them wealth and deliver death instead. Sending the thief to her death, though... that was a masterpiece. You and I have more in common than you think."

"Liar!" Thorin lashed out with his sword, but hit nothing but air. The dragon laughed.

"You'll have to tell me how satisfying it is to watch her die with your kinsman and allies. Then you shall have my gold. Pity your kind are so short-lived." The irony of the comment stung like a barbed dart. Thorin swung his sword again, more wildly this time, desperate to strike a blow.

Still, the dragon seemed to evade his blade, either through being entirely incorporeal, or Thorin misjudging the distance between himself and the beast. "I am _nothing_ like you! You ruled as a tyrant, a murderer. And you were utterly alone. My kin... my allies... they would've followed me to death. Even before I was their King. Even before...."

Thorin's eyes widened, the point of his sword faltering. He swallowed. "Even when I was nothing." The whispered words seemed to draw the spiky head of the dragon closer.

"But who needs others when you have a treasure such as this?"

Thorin didn't seem to have heard, pulled so fully into his reverie. "What have I done?" The sword dropped from his weakened fingers, and he staggered back. "They gave me their loyalty, their trust, and I... I gave them..." He shook his head, speech dying in his throat.

"But you were their King, Thorin!" The figure that seemed to have materialized at his elbow he could perceive well enough in his peripheral vision. Thror scoffed. "They were of little consequence. Reclaiming the treasure - holding it, keeping it safe - was your birthright. Your duty. It had to be done, no matter the cost."

Thorin shook his head and staggered slightly, running a hand through his hair. The crown clattered behind him, but he paid it no heed, turning to stare blindly at his grandfather. Again and again, the words rebounded in his mind.

_What have I done?_

"Life is cheap," insisted Thror, his voice a low growl, an echo of Thorin's own words in the throne room minutes before. "But treasure like this... the value of gold cannot be measured in lives."

The words struck as surely as an arrow, and Thorin flinched, turning away. A blade plunged into his stomach, the pain rasping along his nerves, searing through his core. He stared into the wide brown eyes of his own nephew.

"I will not stand by and let others fight our battles for us!" His voice vibrated through Thorin's chest. He looked down. There was no sword buried in his body. There was no sign of his grandfather, his mother, or the dragon. But Kili... was real. The young dwarf was staring up at him, his face burning with passion.

"I cannot watch them die for us, Thorin. It's not in my blood."

Thorin felt a surge of relief and grasped his nephew's shoulder, pulling him close and pressed their foreheads together. "No... no it's not." Thorin withdrew a little, still holding Kíli bracingly. "We are sons of Durin. And Durin's folk... do not flee from a fight."

"Uncle." Kíli's eyes began to well up, passion and outrage turned suddenly into unlooked-for relief. "It's you... you're back. You're really back."

Thorin nodded, releasing his nephew to shed the heavy fur mantle from his shoulders as though it were the skin of some wretched serpent. It hit the golden floor behind him, and Thorin took a deep breath to clear his head. "Forgive me, nephew. I was blind. I was so blind."

Kíli smiled through his tears. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Now's no time to wallow in regret. We need you to lead us, Thorin. Like the king you always have been."

The roar of the battle outside the walls had reached a peak, and as Thorin started to shed his armor, disgusted by the gold plating, the rest of the Company came into the hall, clamoring for news.

"Arm yourselves. We fight."

"Thorin, there's no way over the wall." Balin was looking at him worriedly. "We need to-" He was already turning away, making a gesture to indicate armor. Thorin threw his breastplate aside with a clatter.

"No time, Balin. Dain needs us now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was about at this point in the writing process that Loki and I decided that we should have been in charge of writing the screenplay for the movie. Don't be fooled, though--it's still not a fix-it.


	4. On the Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion, and a parting. Thorin never thought he'd succeed and fail so spectacularly in one fell swoop.

The battle was madness, and an enormous gold bell smashing through a wall of rubble didn't seem at all out of place. Thorin knew the only way to end this was to cut the head off the snake. With Fili, Kili and Dwalin at his back, he charged up to the the top of Ravenhill.

Billa's sudden appearance both thrilled and terrified Thorin. Before he could say anything, before he could order her to flee, she was gasping out more bad news - Azog had a second army, and they were standing directly in the war path.

"There's not much time, Thorin. You need to get out of here before it's too late." Billa's face was pale with fear, her voice shaking.

"We are _so_ close, Thorin." Dwalin jabbed a finger at the ruined tower frowning at them through the thick fog. "He's in there, I know it."

Thorin hesitated, aware there wasn't time now to let his emotions and regrets overwhelm his leadership. His hatred for the Pale Orc must not be allowed to cloud his judgment, and he'd only ever brought misfortune upon himself by ignoring Billa's counsel.

"No," he said finally. "There's no chance. This was a mistake."

"A mistake?" Dwalin shook his head adamantly. "No. It was a bold stroke, and it might yet work. We just need to coax him out in the open. Thorin," he leveled his gaze with his king, "if we don't finish him _now_... we may never get another chance."

"I'll get him to come out." Billa was still panting lightly, but seemed determined. "I have an idea."

"No. I'll not allow it, Billa." Thorin tried not to look at the dark purple blotches still visible on her neck, bruises he only vaguely remembered putting there, as if in some half-remembered nightmare. "I've caused you enough grief already. You owe me nothing, and I'll not willingly endanger you again."

"I'm not asking you to allow it, Thorin." Billa gave him a tense smile. "We need to move fast, and Dwalin's right, you might not get another chance at Azog. We need to get rid of him." Thorin moved forward, and he had every intention of picking her up, _carrying_ her off the hill if he needed to. Already, she was dancing back and shaking her head, dodging toward the tower.

"Billa, no-"

"I'll be back," she promised, slipping away. "Be ready."

Thorin glanced back at the others, expecting his nephews at least to be equally troubled. They weren't. Then he remembered how many times before he'd needlessly doubted Billa, how many times she'd proved him wrong, how many times she had saved them when all hope seemed lost. And he found in himself the faith to trust her in this, as well.

Still, it was an agonizing wait, those few minutes between her disappearance and the echoing thuds of heavy, heedless footfalls that heralded her success. Thorin and the others waited, leaning against the rough stone two on each side of the doorway.

Thus, they were in a very good position, indeed, when Azog and his escorts charged out into the open, clearly frustrated by this tiny creature that - by some foul sorcery they didn't understand - had the power to flicker in and out of view seemingly with little more than quick move of its hand. Several of the brutes were already dripping ichor and grunting in pain and rage as they proceeded from the tower, and none noticed their intended prey until Thorin and the others had already dispatched three of the hindmost escort.

The Pale Orc turned, his scarred features twisting into a hideous, fanged grin. "Oakenshield is mine," he hissed. "Kill the others."

Thorin smirked faintly, feeling that for once, the Pale Orc's advantage had truly been stripped from him. Dwalin's ax cut down their foes left and right, while Kili and Fili fought side by side against three others. And quite suddenly, Billa flickered into sight beside him, holding her bloody weapon fiercely. Blue fire seemed to lick along the blade and she spun, cutting a charging orc's legs out from under him without hesitation.

"Go," she panted. "I'm with you."

She had never been trained. She was no warrior. He should have sent her scurrying back down the hill to warn Bard and his men. But he didn't. Because if this was the end, he didn't want to be parted from her. Selfish? Yes. Right now, he didn't have the time to regret his selfishness.

Already, he was moving forward to engage Azog, letting the orcs in his path taste dwarven steel.

Fíli and Kíli worked with Dwalin to separate the others from Azog, an effort that seemed to be aided by the Pale Orc's own orders. Thus, in a few short moments, Thorin found himself on the sheet of ice they'd crossed earlier, dark blood running down the six grooves of his sword, the massive white form of the Pale Orc looming above him in the mist.

They went at it hammer and tongs, Thorin claiming the early advantage in that his blade bit twice at Azog's unprotected thighs - not deeply, but enough to cause considerable pain. Several times, Thorin was flung back by the sheer might of the brute's parries, and each time, he was up again almost as soon as he'd hit the ice. The more they circled and struck, fell and dodged away, the slicker the surface grew, and the more often came an ominous groaning beneath their feet.

What the others were doing now wasn't something he could afford to think about. Azog's attacks, though labored, were still very fast. The orc's lurching gait brought sharp cracks from the ice until, with a loud snap, a section of ice broke away from the rest. Thorin's mind went blank. Why was the water here not frozen? Everything should have been frozen solid. The breaking, snapping and cracking rippled outward, smaller plates of ice breaking off from the main sheet. His boots slipped, and he felt his balance go, saw the gleam of triumph in Azog's blue eyes.

"Uncle!"

Thorin didn't have time to think about the yells, the footfalls, the rasp of steel. The first he knew of what was happening was the sight of fur as Fili rushed past him. He saw Fili's first blow land just as he hit the ice. All he felt was relief and pride. Kili made a flying leap, stabbing his blade deep into Azog's shoulder, climbing up onto his broad, bloody back.

The orc roared in pain, and somewhere behind him, as Thorin rolled to his feet, Billa screamed an incoherent warning. Then Azog's weapon hit him barely a second later. He felt himself swept aside like so much chaff. Skidding across the ice on his side, Thorin hit a boulder shortly before Fili collided with him, knocking what little air remained from his lungs. Thorin's head was spinning, but he remembered that there had been three of them against the Pale Orc. Where was Kili?

With an unintelligible cry, a tawny blur at his shoulder lunged forward, all horror-struck, panicked energy. Thorin pushed himself upright, gasping for breath, using the boulder to steady himself. As he raised his gaze again, he prayed what was appearing through blurred vision and foggy sheets wasn't true.

Azog had Kíli by the back of the neck. With swift, unyielding strength, the Orc plunged the young dwarf's head beneath the icy water and held it there, while Kíli desperately thrashed and struggled against him.

Fili had charged ahead to the edge of the ice, and was searching frantically for a way across, bellowing threats and challenges. The orc might as well have been deaf. His whole being seemed concentrated on drowning the young dwarf, whose struggles became weaker and more sporadic.

"Thorin, help me!" screamed Fili, and Thorin responded by forcing benumbed legs to work. It was as though the world, having slowed nearly to a standstill, was speeding up again. He found a sword, scooped it up, accelerating. His nephew, his sister's beloved younger son, was not going to die while he yet had breath in his body. Fili was still standing at the edge of the ice when Thorin drew level with him, passed him, leapt as far as he possibly could. He didn't keep his feet when he landed, but his sword buried itself in Azog's leg, ripping through his calf. The orc jerked wildly away, slipping sideways off the ice and into the water with a strangled howl of protest. Thorin felt the water close around his hands first, and twisted, trying to find purchase on the ice. He had to be secure if he was going to pull Kili to safety. He had to.

Impossibly, he found a catch in the ice. The sharp edge sliced through his gloves, freeing scarlet blood to run in rivulets toward the water as his body skidded around, his boots finding the water and plunging in. His legs, his waist. The catch saved him from falling in, but the ice plate tilted under his weight, trying to send him to the depths with the Pale Orc. There was no sound of gasping or splashing from the dark patch of water where Kili had been. Thorin couldn't breathe, couldn't think.

A hand closed around his ankle. Pulled. Too heavy to be Kili. He kicked, but the strength had left his legs when he lost feeling in them. His feet were leaden, his joints wooden. He was like a clumsy puppet, and his strings were being severed one at a time. His grip on the ice slipped, slicing his palm open. Thorin fought, but the water closed over him all the same.

This wasn't how it was supposed to end. Where were his nephews? Where was his burglar? As the icy darkness poured into his mouth and filled his lungs, the King Under the Mountain suffered a moment of confusion before silence and peace settled over him.

Azog would die with him. That was what mattered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you not blessed with a Tolkien-obsessed movie fanatic, I will say that this idea is based on a concept that was introduced to and ultimately rejected by Peter Jackson. There are concept-art pieces out there, somewhere... *searches* but apparently they are only available to Tolkien-obsessed movie fanatics, so I will give up looking and read a fanfic instead, because writing this scene made me cry. Multiple times.


	5. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A last goodbye.

"He's gone, Billa."

The halfling stared up at the blond dwarf, fearful comprehension trickling into her eyes. "No," she gasped weakly, turning back to the dark water. "I didn't get- he didn't- he _can't_ be dead. Not... not _Thorin._ "

They'd routed the rest of Azog's escort easily enough, thanks in large part to the arrival of the Eagles and Beorn, but the victory, now that it had come, felt incredibly hollow.

Fili was kneeling beside the body of his brother, his hands wrapped tightly around Kíli's. He'd failed them both. It didn't seem possible. It didn't feel real, as much as he could outwardly see and acknowledge it.

Billa took a step toward the edge of the ice sheet. Fíli could see the intent in the movement, and loosed his brother's hands to seize the halfling's shoulder, pulling her around so she was facing him once more. The tears streaming down her face checked the cold reality he'd been about to offer. She didn't need facts right now.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, crumpling beneath his firm grasp. "I'm so sorry I couldn't... save him. Couldn't even... I don't... I don't understand. I'm so sorry, Fili."

"This isn't your fault, Billa." Fili felt helpless in the face of the halfling's grief. "None of this is your-"

He was interrupted by a splash and a loud gasp, the scrape of metal against ice. Somehow, impossibly, Thorin had resurfaced. Fili and Billa surged forward, dragging the king out of the water as he hacked up a lungful of water.

"Billa," he wheezed. "Fili. Where's Kili?" Already, ice was forming in his hair and beard, lips and fingers blue with the cold. Billa all but laid on top of him, trying to share all the warmth her small body could offer.

"We'll get you warm again. Just rest a minute." Her words didn't really make much sense in context of the question he'd just asked, but it was clear she was only just holding together.

"Uncle." Fili's voice was just as anguished as he quickly moved to augment Billa's efforts. The halfling was frantically wrapping his bleeding hand with her neckerchief, spreading her worn velvet coat over the freezing dwarf's chest, laying across him again to warm him.

Thorin shook his head, wheezing softly. "Kili. Sister-son. Mahal strike me, I am to blame." His voice broke. "All for... nothing."

"You killed the Pale Orc, Uncle. It wasn't nothing. Kili would have been proud if he'd known." Fili caught Thorin's distant gaze and held it. "Mother will understand. Everyone will know what you did here today."

"Don't talk like that, Fee. Please." Billa's voice was tight, barely controlled. "He's going to be alright. He'll be just fine. I'm not letting him go."

Fili said nothing. Then, with a small sigh, he unfastened his belt and shrugged off his outer surcoat. It wasn't much, but it was dry, and he covered Thorin's lower body the same way the halfling had covered his upper half.

Thorin's focus shifted to Billa, regret and desolation in his fading blue gaze. He'd begun to shiver violently. "Billa, there are no words. No words I can say to atone for... for the way I've betrayed you." The words were spoken through chattering teeth and shuddering breaths. "All the same... I would part from you in love."

His cold-stiffened fingers sought hers, drawing them to rest over his heart. "My loyal burglar... this is yours, and always will be. Forgive me. I was lost, but you never gave up hoping I'd find myself. I am unworthy of you."

"No, nononono, Thorin, don't talk like that. You're not going anywhere. You'll live, and you'll be a terrible patient." Billa grasped his hand and tried to warm it between her own. "Fili, tell him! Tell him we won. The eagles. The eagles came and we won, Thorin, you have to hold on." But the dwarf's breath came in rattling gasps.

"I'm sorry to have put you in such peril." His shaking fingers brushed over her bruised wrists, and Billa shook her head violently, curls whipping around her face.

"It's been an honor to share your perils, Thorin, and we'll share more, you'll see."

"Go back to your books, and your armchair," he whispered, eyes glazing now as his teeth slowly stopped chattering, "plant your trees. If more people valued home as you do... the world would be a merrier place."

"Hold on, Thorin, please. Just hold on. The eagles came... the eagles...." But Billa's pleas fell on deaf ears. Thorin let out a final, pained breath as his body shook from the cold, spasmed, then went still.

Fili looked away. If there were anything comforting to be found in this terrible moment, it was that his uncle had been able to die at peace, surrounded by those he loved. Kili had expired oblivious to his brother's pleas, already unconscious by the time Fili had him in his arms.

But what did it matter? The end result was the same. Both lay dead, their lives cut short.

And Fili was left alone with the weight of sudden responsibility on his shoulders. He felt very small and afraid, and even as Billa fell back with a shuddering whimper, the blond found his perception of the world had been reduced, the sound fuzzy, the sight stark and blurry.

Billa sobbed now, heedless of the blonde's eyes on her, heedless of all the world but the dead dwarf beside her. If it was unbecoming, if the emotional display was uncomfortable, neither cared in that moment.

The young dwarf hardly knew what he was doing, was only faintly aware of his own movements. All he knew was that he was suddenly kneeling beside the broken hobbit, and she'd been pulled into his arms.

"It's alright," he whispered, speaking as much to himself as to her. "You're not alone." He could feel her shaking, sobbing, and his resolve firmed. Fili knew that this were far from over, that things would only get more difficult as he tried to fill the void left by his uncle, but he would. He would, because he needed to. Because he was a son of Durin.

"We'll be alright, Billa. You'll see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is possible ( _just_ possible) that if I get enough requests, I may continue this story. There's more to it, all holed up in my head of course, but... there's potential.


End file.
